


Love is a Dance

by Madilayn



Series: Prompt Fics [5]
Category: Thunderbirds, thunderbirds are go
Genre: F/M, Flashback, Gen, Tumblr Prompt, fic prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 06:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4425656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madilayn/pseuds/Madilayn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For @soniabigcheese – the Prompt was TAG Grandma Tracy & Dancing</p><p>It’s gone in an entirely different direction to what I intended, but I hope you like it.  Because it’s become as much about Penny and Gordon as it is about Grandma Tracy and her husband.  <br/>I may be slightly obsessed by Pen & Ink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is a Dance

“Why have you never told them,” asks Lady Penelope as she and I look at the engraved invitation I hold in my hand. 

“It never came up. That part of my life was over so many years before they were born, it’s just never...” I sigh. “I miss it though. I always have. It was my life’s dream.” I look at the young blonde woman next to me. Really look, for the first time in a long time. There’s genuine interest in her eyes, and a reverence I hadn’t ever seen before. “Would you like to see a recording? They used to record all the opening night performances and we used to get copies to use for reference, and studying our technique.”

“They still do that. And yes. I’d love to.” She’s sitting forward in excitement and I realise something about this girl. Young woman. She doesn’t go to these things to be seen, or out of duty. She truly loves them. My heart warms and my opinion of her raises several notches. 

Maybe she really is worthy of my Gordon’s interest in her.

I call up the entertainment system to play the recording. It’s old, and was converted from a DVD to the current system, so it’s not a high quality hologram, but a flat two-dimensional piece.

But the picture and sound is still glorious and I sit back ready to get lost in it again. To remember that this was the night my life changed forever.

________________________________________

“It seems strange to be doing a premiere like this,” I whispered to my best friend Ann as we peeped out from the wings at the crowd settling in their seats. “Then again, this is hardly your normal ballet.”

“It’s still odd,” she agreed. “I just hope this crowd appreciates what we do.” She turned to me smiled. “And for once I’m glad that you’re the Prima, and I’m just chorus and your understudy. I thought I was going to break my ankle with those fouettes into a grande jete in the second act when I had to practice your part.”

I shrug. “It’s just practice. Besides, it was choreographed for me and my strengths.” Inside, I’m jelly. I’m about to reach the absolute height of my career – and I’m only 22. Admittedly, I’ve been dancing since I was four, and with the NYC Ballet since I was fifteen, dancing with the corps since seventeen, but still.. It’s a daunting prospect. Suddenly, I was glad that this premiere performance of this particular ballet was not in front of the usual people who attended First Nights. 

This ballet, entitled “Bringers of Hope” was specially composed and choreographed in dedication of rescue workers and first responders. The composer and choreographer were close friends of mine, a husband and wife team who had lost immediate family in the 911 disaster of 2001. For them, this was a labour of love, and because they had choreographed it for me to dance the central role of Hope, it was for me as well.

Today, we were performing not in a theatre, but in the open air in front of the 911 Memorial on a specially built stage. Today, we’re performing not for the elite of New York, or the world, but for a special group of rescue workers and first responders, all of whom had received bravery awards, military commendations and the like. All of whom had put their lives in danger to save others. 

Normally, Ann and I wouldn’t be peering out like this, but the dressing rooms are all very makeshift, and so we, like the rest of the company performing, are milling around “backstage”. I can’t help myself, something keeps pulling me, drawing me to peer out into the audience. I don’t know why. I’ve been dancing on stage for years, and the lure of that peep from the wings had long since gone.

Until now. For some reason, I just had to see the audience. Some gut instinct told me that in that audience was something or somebody that would be vital to me. I couldn’t stop looking, searching for something that I could feel tugging at me. 

The music started and I shut my mind to everything and let the dance take me onto the stage.  
________________________________________  
I’m drawn from my memories by Penelope’s voice.

“Which were you, Mrs Tracy?”

I smile. “The role of Hope in this ballet was written for me by good friends.” Penelope sits upright suddenly.

“But.. but that means you’re Ruth Hanrahan! No wonder they want you at this gala!”

“I was Ruth Hanrahan. I’ve been Ruth Tracy for longer than I ever was Ruth Hanrahan. And I wouldn’t change being that for anything.”

“Not even for the dancing?”

“I never gave up the dancing, Penelope. I still spend an hour each day dancing. And after I retired and Grant and I moved back to Kansas, I started a dance academy there that’s still running. I go back a couple of times a year to see how it’s going. Now hush. Act Two is about to start – with those bloody fouettes.”

This time, I watch. My memories are still in my mind, and as I watch I watch myself, and see myself searching. My eyes flickering. I remembered that. And then I see my eyes settling on one area. I remembered that too. 

I didn’t know it then, but the seat my eyes had settled on contained Grant Tracy.

I can’t help but smile as I watch, recognising the instant that I started to dance for him. The unknown who I had been subconsciously looking for, drawn to. Dancing every step hoping he would see me, recognise in me what I was feeling. 

How foolish. I didn’t even know his name. I wasn’t even sure which one of the small group it was, but I only knew that my soul was telling me that the one I was waiting for was there. 

“Mrs Tracy… I… I don’t know what to say. That was.. you were magnificent!”

“It’s easier when the dance is choreographed just for you,” I explain. 

“No.. not it’s not just that. You put your entire self into that dance. I’ve never seen anything more magnificent.”

I incline my head, just as I used to when I was acknowledged in my days as a Prima Ballerina. “Thank you.”

Penelope chuckles then. “I can see where the red comes from in the family. And the blue eyes.”

“It’s the Irish. Though Lucille’s brothers had blue eyes and blonde hair – and were tall. So it’s not all me.”

“And the boys have never seen this?”

“They have, but very reluctantly. And they never bothered to ask why I had it. And why their Grandfather and I cherished it.”

“Because it was you dancing?”

“That. And because Grant was in the audience. It was there that we met.” I smiled softly. “I fell hard and fast for him. And he for me. But I couldn’t give up my own dream. All I could see of Grant at first was this slightly awkward man who made terrible jokes. But very handsome. Very, very handsome.” I glance slyly at Penelope. “Rather like Gordon, really. Actually, Grant and Gordon are very alike in personality. It took me a while to see that the awkwardness and jokes were his way of coping with the stress of his job.”

I grin inside at Penelope’s blush. I know she’s caught my no-so-subtle hint. 

“What was his job? Jeff always said he was a wheat farmer.”

“Jeff also has a dubious sense of humour,” I reply dryly. “Grant was a rescue helicopter pilot.” I nod at her astonishment. “Yes. It’s something in the genes I think. There is a farm in Kansas and it does grow wheat, and Grant and I did raise our family there. But it’s been a long time since the Tracy’s actually farmed the land themselves. Jeff wasn’t the first entrepreneur in the family.”

“You still gave up everything.”

“It was worth it, Penelope. For love, and to be with Grant. Besides, it wasn’t until after Jeff was born that I stopped dancing professionally. We didn’t even get married until I was pregnant, and we’d been together for four years by that time. You see, Grant wasn’t in a hurry to go back to Kansas. He loved his job. And I was as terrified for him every day as I am for the boys now. 

“Dance helped me. If I danced hard enough and rehearsed long enough, I could forget that he was risking his life. Until I got the calls that he was in the hospital. Or his call saying ‘now, Ruthie, I don’t want you to worry but’. “

Penelope laughed. “I’m learning that call myself. Tell me, when do you start worrying with Tracy men?”

“You don’t stop my dear. Unless you can see them asleep in bed, until the man you love is asleep with you in his arms, you don’t stop worrying. And you still worry then, because you don’t know if the next call will take him from you forever.” I know that my words are spat out, and I can see her surprise. 

“Don’t be surprised, Penelope. We’ve both fallen in love with men whose job could kill them. Men who put everybody else’s lives ahead of their own. It’s OK for us to resent that. Even though we know that they love us back, and would never do anything to hurt us, we know that one day they will hurt more than they could imagine when their need to help takes them forever from us.”

“I still don’t know. I don’t know how I could give up my life.”

“Has Gordon asked you to?”

“No. He seems quite happy to fit in around me.” Penelope sounds a little disgruntled. I can understand why. Gordon has never asked her to give up her life, and at some level, she wants to hear that. 

I do know that feeling too. Grant was happy to spend what time he could with me, and I learned that Tracy men don’t bother wasting time about “what might be”, they work on “what is”. I voice that thought to Penelope.

“It’s what makes them so good at what they do, my dear. They may have what seems to be airy fairy ideas and dreams, but those are firmly rooted in what is. Gordon in particular is also very good at reading people. You haven’t hidden anything from him Penelope. He knows you aren’t ready to give up your life. He just wants to be in it, so he’s very happy to fit in there any way he can.”

“As Mr Tracy did with you.” I nod.

“Yes. And it was so gradual. I can’t even remember the exact moment when we moved from casual lovers to more. No. Inside, I know. We never were casual, but I think you understand. It seemed like I woke up one morning with him and realised that I couldn’t remember not being with Grant. One day he kissed me, and that was that.”

Penelope is blushing again and I know that she’s been caught up the same way I was. Caught in the dance that happens when you fall in love.

“Penelope, dear, take my advice. Don’t wait to be asked. If you’re certain about you, and about him, then reach out and grab it. Hold on with both hands and don’t let go. It will all work out as it should, as long as you hold on to each other.” I smile at her. “As they say, for better or for worse. But trust me. The better far outweighs the worse. And all he wants is to love you and be loved by you. Is that too much?”

I’m surprised when she leans over and kisses my cheek. “No. No it’s not too much. In fact, I think it’s exactly right.” We can hear footsteps and realise that somehow, caught up in our own world, we’ve missed hearing the return of Thunderbird Two. 

As usual, Gordon erupts into the room, but he doesn’t see his old grandma. All he sees is her, and I can see that finally, she’s seeing him, and only him, all her doubts erased, and all that’s on her face is love and joy at seeing the one she loves.

She stands and walks towards him, her arms reaching for him and draws him close for a kiss. You can see the longing in their embrace, and I watch them sway slightly as their kiss deepens. They draw apart only slightly as their kiss ends, and I don’t think either of them even are aware of Alan’s groan and whine of “Get a room,” as he passes them, nor Virgil’s cuff up the back of Alan’s head.

Oh I remember that look. I remember that closeness. When I close my eyes, I can still feel what it was like to be held by Grant, to be kissed, to make love with him. I’m old. Not dead. 

I keep my eyes closed, because I don’t want to let go of Grant. And when I’m asleep, I’m still with him. He’s still holding me. Still watching me dance, his eyes warm with love and yes, not a little lust. In my dreams I dance. I dance for him, and when I finish dancing, he takes me in his arms and we dance a different dance, and I’m warmed and reminded of being alive.

Because I’m old. Not dead.


End file.
